Meeting Sherlock
by Sage Everett
Summary: My run-in with Sherlock Holmes. One-shot. First fic. Go easy on me.


**A/N: Uh, hi, everyone. *waves* Hm, well, this is my first fic. I'm new to all of this, so bear with , this little one-shot is based off a writing prompt from Writer's Digest. It actually exceeds the word limit, but, meh, I don't care. Anyway, the prompt is a little episode of what would happen if you met a fictional character. I'm on Sherlock Holmes high, so naturally I went for Sherlock, though God knows he quite a character to write. Apologies in advance if I have butchered his character. By the way, I'm using BBC's Sherlock, for those wondering. BBC did a modern spin, putting Sherlock in the 21st century. It's a series, though currently there are only three episodes. I'm rambling though, so without further ado: My Sherlock Episode**

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"Hey, Lia, got your coffee,"

Natalie sets the thermos down on the table, looking at me curiously. I look up at her. Upside down. My feet propped up on the back of the armchair and half of me hanging off of it. I was reading one of the new mystery novels at Barnes & Noble. Upside down, of course. I tilt my head at angle trying look at her properly.

"Thanks, Nattie. What's up?"

"Oh, the ceiling, the sky, clouds stars. Not you obviously."

"Oo, feeling witty? Seriously, who's the guy? I know it's a guy because you have that ridiculous grin on your face,"

"No one! Just some guy that came in right now. Kind of cute and a little strange. Oh and don't look now, he's at the café,"

I immediately sat upright to look. Nattie smacked my arm playfully.

"I said don't look," she said jokingly as she walked back to the counter.

I rolled my eyes and settled back into my chair, trying to discreetly look at the guy Nat pointed out. I spotted him immediately. There was no one else she could've been talking about. God, he looked like he popped right out of the television. Dark hair, blue eyes, pale skin and handsomely boyish features. He wore his trademark trench coat and scarf, texting away as he placed his order.

Should I go up and talk to him? What would I say? Lord, what would I say? What do you say when you meet a fictional character? And he just happens to be Sherlock Holmes. I huffed in frustration and decided to do nothing about. Wouldn't want to make a fool of myself in front Sherlock, the arrogant prick he is. I flip myself upside in the armchair and continue to read my book, trying to pretend that one of my favorite characters wasn't walking my favorite bookstore.

Easier said then done, of course, when said character decides to sit down in the armchair across from yours. I briefly looked up from my book and noted a pair of worn but very nice pair of loafers.

"Is there a reason why you're upside down and staring at my loafers?" a British voice said to me from above.

I pulled myself upright, positioning myself across the armrests. Frost blue eyes stared at me inquisitively. I tried not to look uncomfortable.

"Oh, no particular reason. I just like getting a new perspective of things. Nice loafers, by the way," I commented casually.

"Really? And what have you gained from this new perspective?" he asked, sipping his coffee.

"You can learn a lot about a person just by looking at their shoes," God, why did I say that? Because now he's going to ask-

"So, what have you learned about me?"

"Ah, well, you just bought those pair of shoes. The tread is barely worn and the brand is American. And it's your first time-"

"How do you know that?"

"You're wearing a trench coat and a scarf in Southern California where it barely gets below sixty at night,"

"Ah, go on,"

"Hm, you're obviously a very busy man, you've got no laces on your shoes. Taking the time to tie them wastes valuable time. You must work really late hours drinking black coffee at this time of night."

"Yes, and it is god-awful coffee. It's astounding how much they overcharge you for this stuff,"

"Oh, well, my apologies, Mr. Sherlock, for the god-awfulness of my country's coffee," I reply with humor and add, "And yes, Starbuck's charges a ridiculous amount for their coffee, that's why I bring my own,"

I lift the thermos, giving him a small smile. When I look up again, Sherlock looked rather concerned and suspicious.

"Er, what's the matter?" I ask.

"You knew my name. I haven't even introduced myself and you knew my name. How did you manage to deduce that?"

"Uh, well, hmm," I stuttered, stalling, "Ah, you caught me. Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Holmes. I knew about you from your website."

"My website?"

"Yes, the, uh, Science of Deduction. It's very interesting,"

"Really?" he sounded skeptical.

But before he could continue his line of questioning, his phone beeped.

_Found our lead. Meet me at the park off Heritage Road. –JW_

"I'm afraid duty calls, Miss-?"

"Amelia. Call me Amelia,"

"Amelia," Only a British accent could make my name sound so exotic.

His piercing eyes stared down at me intently.

"We will have to continue this conversation another time,"

Yes we will. _Oh get a hold of yourself, Amelia! _I nodded.

"See you around, Sherlock,"

But he had already disappeared from the store.

As I returned to my book a thought occurred to me. How would we continue our conversation, if he was so intent on doing so. I didn't even- Then I spotted it, next to his barely touched a coffee, a slip of paper. I picked it up, looked at it, and grinned, slipping it into my pocket.

I had gotten Sherlock's number.

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**A/N: Ahem. Yeah. That's it. So, if you would be so kind and click on the little link down there and leave me a review that would be fabulous. Constructive criticism welcome. Flames will be stuffed in Sherlock's pipe and smoked. Thank you.**


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